


My Name on Her Lips

by JustRamblinOn



Series: Just A Survivor [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, discussion of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-11-13 05:23:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18025517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustRamblinOn/pseuds/JustRamblinOn
Summary: companion piece to Blood and Bone and Arrows, Daryl's perspective of parts of the story





	1. Dixon

**Author's Note:**

> This is Daryl's POV of some things, with the rescue/aftermath of the Governor being the big part.  
> !!!! rape/non con and rape/non con injury and treatment are a huge part of the story !!!!!!!

He'd thought she was a walker at first, from the way she moved, weaving and uneven. Plus, they hadn't seen a live person since they left the quarry. The others must have thought the same, since they blew right past, without slowing down. 

But he was in the rear, so he saw the way she whipped the rifle around as they went by, though the wind from their passage almost knocked her off her feet. She held her ground, hands steady on the gun, and then he saw the bow. 

He was exhausted and angry and lonely, missing his brother more than he'd ever thought possible. Merle was a damn asshole most of the time, and Daryl thought he spent more time tryin' to get away from his brother than he had with him. But now he was gone, maybe dead, but definitely not there anymore, and the truck felt empty and too quiet. 

He'd never thought he'd be unhappy with the quiet. 

So he honked, one blast of the horn, and the caravan stopped, strung along the road like cheap beads on a hooker. The sudden noise sent the woman into a crouch, shifting backwards on her toes and looking around desperately like she wanted somewhere to hide on the empty highway. 

Who was this woman?

He glanced on up the stretch of the caravan and saw Rick and Shane the asshole jogging toward him, so he figured he'd get out and see what was what. He grabbed the crossbow off the seat, not that he thought he'd need it, and stepped out of the truck. The noise had her swinging that gun back to him, and she swayed a little on her feet.

Her eyes were clear and sharp and wary, though. And damn beautiful. 

"What the hell you doin' out here, woman?" he asked, leaning back against his truck as he waited for Rick and Shane to get their asses down here. 

"Who the fuck are you?" 

Damn, her voice sounded like she'd eaten a bucketful of glass for breakfast, and chased it down with some sandpaper. Probably hadn't had water in awhile. Probably hadn't eaten in a while either. 

"Nobody," he answered her question with a shrug, and kept studying her. 

She hadn't had a bath in awhile, not that he cared. Hell, he'd go a week without one easy even before all this shit started. But her weapons were clean- the rifle she still held on him as she studied him right back, the bow slung over her shoulder, the pistol in the holster on her belt. All clean and in good condition. 

She had a solid outdoor backpack, hiking boots, jeans, and a tank top. Her hair was in a long braid, and she squinted at him in the sunlight. The circles under her eyes made him wonder how long it'd been since she slept last, and the gaunt cheeks and cracked, dry lips confirmed his food and water theory. She had the set-in stains he knew were walker blood and other stuff scattered liberally around her clothes and the rest of her. 

Who the hell was she, and how was she alone? 

"Hey, Daryl!" Rick called, and he jerked his chin up to show he was fine as the mystery woman rose from her crouch and backed up a bit, glancing over to keep Daryl in her sights as Rick and Shane jogged up. 

"Who's your friend?" Shane asked with a sneer, and Daryl mentally rolled his eyes. 

"Ain't my friend. Looks near starved. Croaks like she ain't seen water'n a week, too." 

"Fuck you!" she spat at Daryl, and he couldn't help but grin. He liked her style already. 

"Temper, temper," Shane said, giving her the sort of leer that made Daryl want to knock the man's teeth in. 

"Fuck you too!" she snarled at Shane, and that was it. Daryl was sold. As far as he was concerned, she was in. The others just had to catch up. 

She was answering questions, still sounding like she'd not had a drink in a month, and it pissed him off that the other two didn't even think to offer her any. He jerked a bottle out of his truck and tossed it to her. "Drink it before you pass out." 

She gulped it down while they finished deciding if she was joining them or not. She was, of course, Rick being the good guy cop that he was, and Shane protested, being the asshole that he was. When Shane suggested she ride with him, Daryl noticed the way she stiffened and looked from Rick to Daryl. Her eyes looked a little wild, and that sealed it. 

"Naw, she can ride with me. Got room in the truck. Now let's go, we ain't got all day," he said grumpily, flinging the truck door open for emphasis. 

Rick hesitated, but then they were going, and Daryl was looking across at the woman. YN, she'd said. "Well, come on then, woman. Get in or get left." 

She said something about the bike as she hopped in on the other side, and he grunted. Then as they hit the road, she asked him his last name. 

"Why?" he asked with a bewildered look. 

"Just like to know who I'm in a car with, that's all," she muttered. 

He got that. Woman alone, and all. 

"Dixon," he muttered, feeling bad for being an asshole. But apparently a better option than Shane, so that was something. 

"Dixon," she said, and something about the way his name rolled off her tongue did something to him he didn't want to think about too hard. "Anybody ever tell you you're kind of an asshole?" 

He tossed back his head, laughing longer and louder and more openly than he'd laughed in months, at least, maybe even years, and he could see her staring out of the corner of his eyes. He flashed her a grin. 

"All the time."


	2. The First Time

He was nowhere near as drunk as she thought at the CDC. Maybe that's why he did it; because he knew she'd blame it on him being drunk. 

Truth was, he'd gotten more used to her in the past two weeks than he'd ever thought possible. He'd spent most of his adult life alone, or in the company of his brother and wishing he was alone, and now that he was rolling with this group, he had often found himself overwhelmed and irritated by the noise, the voices, the needs and demands of so many people who constantly wanted things from him. 

She was different. He'd never spent so much time with another person just there the way they found themselves just there together now. She rode by his side in his truck every day, feet propped on the dash or out the window or curled up on the seat beside her. They talked sometimes; hell, he talked to her more than he'd talked to anyone, maybe ever in his life. More often than not, they just rode, in easy silence. 

He'd never thought another person could be... peaceful. 

Then they'd set up camp, and the two of them would disappear into the woods more often than not, watching each other's backs with barely a word needed. They'd come out with food, or firewood, or just information, and the group would try to smother them with worry and requests and sometimes gratitude, until they retreated- one at a time or sometimes together- to their own camp, a bit away. And the easy silence returned. 

At night, for the few hours neither of them were on watch, he'd stretch out beside her in the darkness, close enough to touch if they moved. She'd wake him, at least once, from those nightmares of hers- nightmares no one else would have noticed, even if they'd shared a room with her. It was only because they laid there so close that he'd feel her start to tremble or hear the tiny, breathless little noise that always had him reaching for her shoulder. 

He didn't know what it was that night. Maybe it was the way she'd said his name, his first name- in two weeks she'd never called him Daryl- or the way her eyes were just a little too wide, a little glassy. Maybe it was the way that asshole Shane had looked at her and sneered and she had shivered against his hands on her sides. Maybe it was the forced intimacy of sharing a bed with someone, even if that bed had more space on it than the floor of their little tent did. It was different.

Hell, maybe it was just because he wanted to. Because oh God, he wanted to.

So he reached out, cautiously, sliding his arm around around her waist. When she stiffened, he didn't know if it was fear or disgust or what, so he stayed still to find out. Then she just- 

She melted into him, all at once, and he found his arm pulling her closer and his nose in her hair before he realized what he was doing. And she made another of those tiny little sounds, this one a sigh as she dropped to sleep immediately, and he hated the way it made him wonder what other sounds he could draw out of her- maybe if he pressed his lips to her neck, or ran his fingers over her bare arm, or slid his hand up under her shirt to-

He cut himself off deliberately; telling himself it wasn't like that between them. She was his friend, and God knew he didn't have many of those. This was just tonight; just because they were safe and she was scared and if she asked, he was drunk. 

He told himself all that, but he still didn't sleep much that night. 

It wasn't until he felt her stir in his arms, stiffen a little, and then relax into him again, in the morning, that he realized she'd gone all night without one of those nightmares.


	3. Just Hold On

He couldn't believe he'd fallen on his own damn arrow, and then goddamn Barbie had taken a shot at him. The doc stitched him up well enough, but Rick and Shane were about to make him crazy, arguing over whether to even keep looking for that poor girl. 

He'd found her doll, damn it. Even if everyone else gave up on her, he fucking wouldn't. 

He wasn't all that interested in the argument, though, since YN was pacing the room, a habit she'd picked up from him. She was pissed as hell, he thought, and he hated that she was making him feel guilty. She'd asked him not to go off on his own, and he'd been a right ass to her here lately. 

Hell, he'd been an asshole to everyone, but she was the only one he really cared about. 

He didn't know what it was going on between them, and it made him all crazed inside. He didn't know what to do with himself when she wasn't at his side; he didn't know what to do when she was there; he didn't know what any of it meant, damn it, and he was too scared to ask. 

He hated being scared. This was why he didn't get close to people. 

They slept wrapped around each other every night; her head on his chest, or his arm around her waist, face pressed against her neck where he was surrounded by the scent of her. She intoxicated him. 

Her nightmares had come back, of course, and he hadn't been foolish enough to assume whatever trauma had given the to her would be healed by his presence. 

But they never spoke of it. She never said anything to him, never asked him any questions or for what he wanted. At first he'd been fine with it, but as the days- and the nights- continued, he wanted more. 

He wanted her. 

And then Sofia went missing and Carl got shot, and the whole damn group was falling apart, and he could see that she was the only one holding them all together. He resented how much of her they got; he was scared to tell her what he wanted; and suddenly finding Sofia was the only thing he could control and he was being an asshole to the only person he gave a shit about. 

Finally she whirled around, and there was the fire he was afraid he'd never be able to live without again, as she got up in dickhead Shane's face and told him to get out. 

Rick smoothed things over, and the she was talking to the doc with a kind of forced calm he saw through in a second. Then everyone was gone and she was closing the door to his room, and she just collapsed against it. All the fight, the heat, the anger, drained out of her as she leaned against the wood.

"Damn it, Daryl," she whispered, and that was it. 

He was exhausted and in pain, and when she used his first name, he felt uncontrollably guilty. It was only the second time she'd ever called him Daryl, and he flashed to the way her eyes had looked the first time, fear and shame covered up with forced casualness. 

He knew she'd been worried- he recognized the way she used anger to drive herself forward, trying to keep the crippling fear away. He hated, hated that he'd made her worry, and the potent combination of pain and tiredness and guilt and need made him volatile, and he snapped at her. 

"What?" He'd be damned if he'd let her get to him. What did she care? They'd barely known each other for three weeks now. He wasn't beholden to her. He didn't answer to nobody, damn it. 

"Seriously, Dixon?" she snarled back, and then she was pacing again, and he added some more guilt to his foul mood. "Don't 'what' me. You damn near got yourself killed, and you come back looking like a walker and wearin' freakin' ears, man! What is goin' on with you? You've been insane since Sofia went missing! It's like I barely know you!"

"You do barely know me!" The words lashed out, sounding too much like his father, and he hated himself immediately. 

She jerked back like he'd slapped her, and said some kind of apology she didn't have any business giving as she headed toward the door. That was all it took, and he felt the foul mood just drain away at the thought of her leaving, especially leaving when he'd just hurt her. 

He didn't give any thought to the stitches the doc had put in his side; he just pulled himself from that bed somehow, knowing if he didn't get to her now, he might have ruined everything he needed. So he spun her around and crushed her to him, and when he pressed his face to her hair and was surrounded by her scent, he felt himself trembling. 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm an ass, ok? I'm sorry. Don't leave." That was all he cared about, all he needed was her not to leave. 

He didn't know when he'd started to need her so desperately, but he did, and he'd do anything to keep her at his side right then. When her arms came around him and she started to cry against his chest, he just held on. Just held on.


	4. The Sound of His Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rape/non con mentions  
> cannon-typical violence  
> implied/referenced abusive relationships
> 
> kinda smutt- adjacent too

The next time she called him Daryl, he was on top of Shane the asshole, determined to see if he could find his brain if he punched hard enough. 

He'd put his hands on her, twice, and she'd marched him in at arrow point. When she'd asked Daryl not to kill him, he had agreed, but only because Shane hadn't succeeded in doing anything to her. Then that bitch Andrea had shot off her mouth, and his girl had lifted her chin and he'd seen the bruise just starting to form on her neck. 

He'd lost it, and he didn't even care; not until he heard her yell his name. 

"Daryl! Stop it! You're scaring Carol!" 

She sounded angry and stressed, and he didn't like hearing his name from her like that.

He might not have stopped even then, but he'd looked over at Carol, and son of a bitch, she was right. He'd seen that look on his mother's face when he was a kid, on the faces of some of his friends' moms or girlfriends, and he hated himself for putting it on hers, especially while her kid was still missing. 

 

He saw the fear in her eyes as he was leaving, heard it and maybe something else she didn't know was there- just a hint of jealousy, in her tone and the flick of her eyes to Bitch Barbie- in her voice when she caught his arm and called him Daryl. They hadn't had a chance to talk about what it meant, the fact that they were kissin' now, too, and he didn't want to overstep. 

But she needed some reassurance, and he just wanted all these people to know she was his. And he wanted Andrea to back the hell off of him. 

And, shit, he just wanted her. 

So he pulled her in tightly to him, growled at her that he was coming back, and kiss her, right there. 

Then he left, before they had a chance to ask him questions or any of that shit. She'd stood there, looking dazed and confused, and he was just a little smug about that, so he tossed her a wink as he walked away. 

 

Then there'd been that day when he'd skinned a snake for dinner, after the farm fell, and he'd had a good hard laugh at her disgusted expression. She'd taken the dare like a champ, though, eating every bite he'd given her with a smile. 

Then she'd licked her fingers, one at a time, her eyes locked on his the whole time, and asked, with a wicked gleam in her eyes, if there was anything for desert. 

He'd given her some damn desert, pressing her back into a tree in the darkness and tangling his hands all up in her hair, and she'd wrapped one leg around him and pulled him against her by his belt loops. She'd moaned his name into his mouth as he kissed her in the dark, and as the sound of it vibrated against his tongue, he'd wanted to be buried in her right there and then, against that tree, walkers and the other members of their group be damned. 

He wanted to hear his name come from her lips like that as he moved inside her. 

But of course, T Dog on watch gave the low whistle that signaled walkers, and they'd had to run, again. 

 

They'd taken the prison, and everyone was claiming cells, but Daryl couldn't sleep in a cage and he knew YN couldn't either. So he'd claimed the guard tower for them, hauling up a mattress. He'd almost chickened out, but he'd caught her eyes, following him hungrily as they took on the walkers. 

He'd been watching her the same way, admiring the way she practically danced with the dead, ducking under their reaching arms and slipping her knife in and out of their skulls. 

She was in his arms, pressed against him, and she was meeting him fire for fire, and he thought he'd burn up in it. Then she was moving under him, and this time his name fell from her lips like a prayer, before he took her up and over the edge and his name was a ragged, breathless cry that filled his ears and did things deep inside him. And he was falling, falling, falling, over the edge with her and deeper into love than he'd ever thought possible.


	5. His Favorite So Far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> discussion of past abuse  
> discussion of past rape/non con  
> discussion of past self-harm

He'd never seen anything as beautiful as the sight of her in his bed the next morning. 

The hair she'd cut off when it got tangled in a walker's outstretched hand was uneven and ragged and everywhere, and he itched to have his hands in it again already. She was curled on her side, one hand tucked under her chin, and her eyes twitched as she slept. The blankets he'd brought up were tangled around her, and her skin was warm under his hand. 

He could have stayed there forever, watching her sleep, but he felt her stir. He was kind of embarrassed to be caught staring, kind of worried about what he'd see when she opened her eyes to his face, so as she started to wake up, he closed his eyes and waited to see what she'd do. 

When she ran her fingers through his hair and called him Dixon, he could have died happy that morning and not felt like he'd missed out on anything in life. Except more of her. 

How could the sound of his name from her do so many things to him? It was just a damn name. 

Coming from her, it was something else. Something more. He was crazy about the ways she said his name. 

He could feel the moment she started thinking too hard, could feel that slight shift to tight wariness she got when one of those nightmares approached. He'd wondered if she'd have some kind of reaction like this. He knew how trauma worked, and from what she'd told him, he was the first since the asshole ex.

Hell, he wasn't entirely sure, but he might have been the only besides the asshole ex. 

He wasn't gonna come over all bent out of shape about it if she had a bit of a freak out. He understood. It had taken a long time after his dad died before he could handle being touched- even just a hand on the shoulder- without near taking the person down. It wasn't until her that he'd started to actually enjoy being held on to or holding onto someone else. 

It wasn't like there'd been no one in his bed or in his arms before her, but it wasn't like this. Wasn't like her. It was just an itch to scratch; a quick tumble that left both parties satisfied, for the moment, and unconnected. There'd been a girl he'd cared about, once upon a time, but that had been before Merle came back. Since he'd left without a backward glance, following his brother aimlessly across the great fuckin' state of Georgia, he was pretty sure even that one had been nothing. 

He couldn't imagine leaving her for anyone. 

So when she tensed and drew away from him when he called her beautiful, he knew what the issue was. He was good at waiting people out; knew that sometimes the easiest way to get people to talk was to shut up yourself and let them come to you. 

Sure enough, she started talking before too long, in a voice that was hers but not. There was a lot, and most of it made his blood boil or run cold or made him want rage at her for letting someone take away her fire. That's what was missing in her voice, he realized. 

Her fire. 

But he knew better than most what people could do to someone who thought they cared. Hell, his dad had been like that. Daryl had grown up knowing he was worthless, useless, and wouldn't amount to anything. 

It was only these days, with her, that he'd started to believe otherwise. 

When she told him she'd stabbed the bastard with kitchen scissors, he laughed. 

"Damn, woman!" 

She'd blushed and stuttered and looked away, but he'd just pulled her close and kissed her hard. 

"I'd've cut his balls off first, but kitchen scissors- that's creative. Hope it was slow." 

She'd flashed him a small, careful version of that smile that he loved, and he'd just sat back smiling a little back at her, and listened. 

She'd talked about some of the scars scattered over her body, and he'd wanted to cry. He would have, if he hadn't know that would just make her feel guilty for talking about it. He knew how it felt to hide scars, to hate what it seemed like those scars made you. After she'd whispered out how she'd given herself hers, like she was ashamed, and that the bastard had called her weak- 

This girl? His girl, weak? Hell no. She was goddamn survivor. This asshole had driven her half-crazy, forced himself on her over and over again and convinced her it was love, isolated her from everyone she cared about, and then told her that she was weak? 

He'd stopped her then, his mouth against hers, just for a moment. Then he'd spent a long time showing her what he thought about each of those scars, and whispering how he saw her as he went. 

When she'd been breathless and gasping, writhing as his lips moved over her skin, he'd kissed her again and pulled away. 

She'd been owed some words of his own, so he talked, as she had. He talked about his scars, and his father, and the way he was starting to believe maybe his brother wasn't too different from his father, after all. 

Hell, Merle called him worthless and useless just as much as his dad had. Maybe it was easier than he'd thought to let someone make you hate yourself. 

Maybe it wasn't so easy to convince someone they mattered after all. 

Maybe it was easier to show them. 

They'd been busy tryin' to do just that when Rick's voice came from below the tower, calling for them. 

"Goddamn it!" he growled into her shoulder, and he felt her laugh. 

"Come on, Dixon. Duty calls," she said with a smirk, and he bit down on her shoulder, lightly, and the laugh turned to a gasp. When he followed it up with his tongue on her neck, the gasp became a breathless moan. 

"Fuck, Daryl..." 

There was his name again. 

It was his favorite so far.


	6. Take Care of You

He killed a man for her. 

He knew he would when he heard her scream, long and hard and terrified and angry all at once, and he'd looked wildly around the room. 

Shane was gone. 

He hadn't even spoken to Rick; didn't care about the other prisoners or clearing out their cell block the rest of the way. He didn't care that maybe he was leaving his friend to get hurt too. 

Rick had a fuckin' blind spot where that bastard was concerned, and Daryl knew. He knew the only thing that would have had her calling down every walker in the place was desperation. 

He ran down the halls, and he'd never been so afraid in his life. 

When he came around the corner and saw her, slumped in Shane's arms- saw the crazed look to Shane's eyes, heard him screaming at his girl- 

He didn't think. He just fired. 

He'd been afraid she was dead, but she rolled as she hit the ground, springing to her feet and backing toward him as she looked around for Shane. She had her knife in her hand and up, and it was red and so was part of her shirt. 

Then her eyes landed on Shane, crossbow bolt between his eyes, and she pitched forward and hit the ground before he could catch her. 

Son of a bitch. 

 

Damn fool woman, gave herself a concussion passin' out and hitting the ground. 

Daryl was snarling and angry, keeping everyone out but the old man and Carl. The kid loved her just as much as he did, and Daryl didn't have the heart to drive him out when he saw the look in the kid's eyes. 

So the two of them sat in silence for the longest time, and Daryl reached out to grip Carl's shoulder. He didn't know who was comforting who there, but it seemed to work for them both. 

Two days was a long damn time. Long enough for him to be afraid she'd never wake up. 

But she did, and then of course the damn woman wouldn't let him take care of her. She had to get up almost immediately, even though in the space of two hours, she had two panic attacks and he'd thought he was going to have to bring Hershel back in to make sure she wasn't stroking out or something. 

Finally, he'd just grabbed her, pressing his forehead to hers. "I'd really like to be kissin' you now. Didn't you tell me to try that instead of yellin' at you?" 

She'd smiled, and when his lips were against hers, he finally felt some of the panic fade away.


	7. When Things Went to Shit, They Really Went to Shit

When things went to shit, they really goddamn went to shit. Lori was gone, Carl'd had to shoot her- poor kid was gonna be completely fucked up for awhile, Daryl knew- and Rick was off roamin' the halls like a crazy serial killer, hacking up walkers with that damn ax. 

He'd been out with Maggie, roaring toward they didn't even know what, and he hadn't really even cared. 

That baby wasn't going to die. 

His little group, his goddamn little family, had lost four members in the space of three days, and he was done. 

No one was missing Shane the Asshole, and honestly he didn't have much use for Lori either if he was being honest, but T Dog had been a solid man. And Carol? 

He couldn't think about Carol. Not yet. 

She'd been the first one to see anything in him, back at the quarry out in Atlanta. She'd been the only one who ever seemed unfazed by Merle, and when he'd met her husband, he got it. His brother was a lot of things, but he'd never knocked a woman around like that. Carol hadn't cared that Merle was loud and rude and an ass; she'd had all that at home already. She'd dealt with all of Merle's bullshit and gotten close to Daryl in the process. 

He hadn't had a real friend in years before her, and now she was-- 

They'd gotten the formula and shit, and were heading back out to the bike when Maggie stopped him with a hand on his arm. He turned to look at her, frustrated, and snarled something. 

Then the woman did the damnedest thing. She hugged him. Just out of the blue, from nowhere, hugged him. It was a testament to how things had been going with YN that he didn't leap out of his skin and shove her away. 

"I know it's been a rough few days for you, but I want you to know- if you hadn't killed him, I would have. He'd been trying to convince all of us that she was the problem for months. No one believed him, but Glenn and I were ready to slit his throat in his sleep. Hell, maybe we should have." She'd spoken into his shoulder, her arms around his neck. 

Daryl hadn't really known what to do, so he'd just waited a moment and then patted her back awkwardly. "Yeah. Shoulda killed him before we even left the damn farm."

Maggie chuckled as she let him go and dashed tears from her face. "It can't have been easy. I know he wasn't a friend, but he wasn't a walker either. And Carol- I can't even imagine. I can't. And here the two of you are, her barely back on her feet, and you two are running the show. Doing what needs doing. We see you, is all. Just wanted to tell you that." 

Daryl grunted at her, at a loss for words, and she swung onto the back of his bike. Then they were racing back home. 

He fed Little Ass-kicker, checked on Carl, helped Hershel and Glenn set some extra defenses in place in the cell block. He checked on the two prisoners who'd survived. They'd helped when the shit hit the fan, so he got them set up in cells and put the fear of god- well, the fear of Daryl- into them. Then he was looking for her. Where the hell was she? She needed to get off her damn feet, but no. 

His woman was up in the guard tower keeping watch and talking Maggie out of her guilt and anger and whatever else. 

"Woman don't know when to quit," he said. "She should be asleep, not out here keepin' watch."

She'd smiled at him and fired off some kind of joke, but he was going to make her fuckin' sleep if it killed him. 

Turned out, it didn't take much- just a few hours of quiet and a hand in her hair, and she was out like a light in his lap. He kept watch over her and over the prison, and the world was alright once more. 

 

YN insisted on going with Maggie and Glenn, of course. He couldn't even blame her. They were down too many people, Rick was being a dick, and he couldn't be everywhere. He trusted her to take care of herself and them more than anyone else in the world. 

Didn't stop him from worrying though, even as he cleared the lower levels with Carl and tried to talk the kid down from the edge some. 

He told him about coming home to find his mom dead and his house burned down, and how it had felt unreal. His girl had already told him what Carl had told her, but his blood still ran cold when Carl looked him in the eyes and declared he'd shot his mom in the head. 

"I know it's real," the kid had said. What the hell was Daryl supposed to say to that? 

Things seemed to be going all right. They got the levels cleared, and Rick even came out of Crazytown enough to talk to Carl. Daryl was watching them from the courtyard while they were down at the fence. 

He was pissed at Rick. 

He got it. Grief was hard. The man had been carying the load for months to keep them all alive. It sucked. 

But he had two kids now, including a fucking baby. This group still needed him. He needed to get his damn head out of his ass. 

Daryl watched, smoking one of his last cigarettes- they were all one of his last- as Carl and Rick went running to the gate. He crushed the cigarette out with the toe of his boot and was running toward them without a thought. He'd never make it there in time to do anything, but he had to try.

He saw them drag the woman through the gates, saw Carl run back out for-

Goddamn it. Was that a basket full of formula?


	8. The Sound of Fear Is Absence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rape/ non con warning  
> trauma, PTSD, triggers, etc. 
> 
> Just be cautious from here

Daryl looked over at her, just for a moment, as Rick pulled the bag off her head and she looked around wildly. 

That moment was enough for the cold panic he'd been in ever since Carl and Rick brought the woman with the sword into the prison to settle like lead in his gut, and if it hadn't been for Maggie desperately clutching his arm and trying to support Glenn, he didn't know if he'd have been able to get out of there. 

He'd expected her to be scared and pissed; maybe terrified. He'd braced himself for her to be even more battered and bruised than when he'd carried her out of the depths of the prison after Shane. He'd wondered if she'd have one of those panic attacks, when she looked at him with her eyes huge and desperate and lost while she tried to get in air and he could see her mind racing, every thought she had moving over her face, her guilt and frustration and hatred of being weak overwhelmed by the physical reaction she couldn't control. 

He'd never expected her eyes to be so-- dead. Blank. There was nothing in them, not a shred of the woman he'd figured out a while back he violently, desperately loved. 

Her eyes terrified him right to his core.

Nightmares were something he'd never been plagued by, even with all the shit he'd seen, but he lost track of how many times he woke up after that in a cold sweat, heart pounding, with that moment, that flash of her eyes lingering in his mind. 

He was too busy to think about it for too long, slipping with them through Woodbury, taking point as they slid through the darkened streets until Rick waved them into the building they'd hidden in on the way in. 

He checked for an exit, but there was nothing. He made his way back to Rick's side, watching as his friend cut the ropes on YN's wrists. 

"Give me a weapon, Rick." 

It was the first thing he'd heard her say. Her voice was worse than her eyes. 

All the laughter, the teasing, the cheerful sarcasm that covered up a sharp mind, a warm heart, and a solid steel core- it was all gone. Just gone, like the light in her eyes. 

Daryl shuddered at the sound of her voice. 

He slapped her gun into her hand and spoke to Rick, because he couldn't speak to her, not yet. Not until they were out. "Ain't no way out back there."   
He couldn't even look at her- at any of them- for too long, or he'd notice things. 

Things like Maggie wearing Glenn's shirt. 

Things like the blood crusted on Glenn's lip and the way he winced when he moved, or the guilt in his eyes as he looked at YN and Rick. 

Things like the bruising on one side of her face, or the way the cut on her forehead from her encounter with Shane had split open again and blood was running down to her cheek.

Things like the shirt she wore, swallowing up her tiny frame, that was obviously a man's and definitely not one of Daryl's.

If he noticed those things, thought about them for long, then he'd think about what they might mean, and-

So he didn't let himself see them.

His girl was looking around now, asking where the Samurai was, and it hurt to hear one of her silly, clever nicknames come from that shadow of her voice. Rick was looking around wildly, and Daryl heard himself offering to go find her. 

Rick refused, and he was glad because they needed to get the hell out of here. 

He needed to get her the hell out of here, and see if his girl was still in there somewhere. 

Then Glenn spoke, and rocked his world on its axis. "Daryl, this was Merle."

What the hell? His brother? "What? My- my brother's this Governor?" 

"No, that's somebody else," YN said, and Daryl swung his eyes back to her, something moving in her dead voice like in her dead eyes, and she was glaring at Glenn in that way she did when she desperately wanted someone to shut the hell up before they made things worse. 

But how could Glenn make things worse? 

And Merle- Merle couldn't have been the one who did this. 

"Does he know I'm with you?" Daryl asked urgently. "Does he know who-" 

There was no way his brother knew who she was to him. Merle couldn't have done this. His brother was a good person, under it all. 

"Do we have time for this right now?" YN hissed, not meeting Daryl's eyes, and Rick jumped back into action. 

But Merle was around; he couldn't just leave. He'd left his brother once, and he knew Merle would forgive him for that one. After all, Merle had left him once, and to be honest, Daryl didn't think his brother had ever really come back. Something had happened between the time the older brother he adored had walked out of their smoke-filled, dirty shack of a home, their father's accusations of betrayal ringing in both of their ears, and the time he'd come home, a tired, hardened Army grunt with PTSD, a painkiller addiction, and a hatred for everyone in the world that Daryl couldn't crack no matter how badly he'd tried. And that was before the world ended and Merle'd been left on a rooftop to chop off his own hand.

He privately admitted that he didn't know who his brother was anymore, and he had no idea what he was capable of. 

Daryl heard his own voice, a ragged whisper to Rick, saying he had to find Merle. 

He was pacing, desperate, loosing his grip on himself as he tried to deal with the shock to his system that was learning the brother he'd given up for dead- again- was alive after all, and here within his reach. 

"Look what he did!" Rick insisted, forcing Daryl to meet his eyes and hold his gaze. "Look, we- we gotta get out of here now. YN, she needs you to help get her out of here now." 

That got his attention, stopped the whirling train wreck of his mind that wouldn't stop telling him that he had to look for Merle; Merle was his family; Merle was the only one who cared about him, and how could he abandon him now, for these strangers? 

But they weren't strangers; they were his friends, damn it, his family, and the not-hers voice of his girl telling Rick she could take care of herself snapped him back. 

And he looked, really looked at the first person he'd loved in the world besides Merle. The one who made him believe, every day, that he was more than the redneck trash everyone in his life, even his brother, had always told him he was. 

She was looking back at him, but she wasn't really in there, and he couldn't let her down again. He couldn't fail to get her out of here like he'd failed to keep her safe from all this to begin with. 

He drew in a deep breath, set his shoulders, and nodded. "Alright, Rick, let's go," he growled. 

 

They had to fight their way out, and Daryl wasn't surprised. Woodbury had the numbers, but Rick had a few of the flash-bangs still they'd found in the armory back home in the prison, and he used the to give everyone as much cover as possible. 

But it wasn't enough. 

They'd gotten Maggie and Glenn over the wall when Oscar got hit, and Daryl knew the only way to get Rick and YN to safety was if he covered them. So he took a knee, laying down as much fire as he could, and trusted Rick to get his girl out of there. He'd find another way out.

He was still believing that when the guy came out of nowhere and the world went dark as they bag came over his head.


	9. About to Die and All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rape/ non con  
> PTSD, trauma, triggers, etc
> 
> be cautious

He knew he was royally fucked when he heard the voice, giving some damn speech.

The bag came off his head, but his hands were still tied, and he looked around to see just how bad it was. 

There was Merle. 

It was some sort of arena, with some bastard with an eye patch giving the speech, and people all around screaming something. Merle glanced at him and then away, guiltily. 

He heard someone struggling behind him and looked just in time to see a couple more people hustling another figure with a bag over their head up beside him, and his he felt himself stop breathing. 

No. Rick got her out. 

She was struggling against them, being the general pain in the ass she was so damn good at being, but she was blind and bound, and there were two of them. 

She looked so damn small, wearing that shirt that wasn't hers as two men wrestled her into position. 

Then the bag come off her head and she was looking around with wild eyes, taking in the arena and the crowd. 

He saw the way she flinched when her gaze landed on the asshole giving the speech. Then she sneered and kept looking. 

Finally she noticed him beside her, and something moved in her eyes. They weren't dead anymore, they were pissed. 

His girl was in there somewhere, after all, but so far down he was still scared. 

She gave him a crooked grin, a crazed, horrifying caricature of her usual smile. "Hey, Dixon," she said in a voice he knew she meant to be cheerful. 

His last name, her nickname for him that usually did all kinds of good things to hear coming from her lips, was a knife in the chest instead. It wasn't her, not really, and he could feel himself starting to despair. 

But then she continued, and just for a moment, it was her again; his girl looking out at him with a shrug; her voice, warm and rich and really her- 

"So, looks like this is as good a time as any. About to die and all." 

Wasn't that just like her, joking in the face of whatever disaster had struck this time? 

"Just thought I'd tell you, I love you," she finished, and he didn't even have time to react before they were shoved forward together and the asshole in middle of the ring was calling his brother a traitor and the two of them terrorists. 

The asshole had to be the Governor, Daryl realized, and then someone cut the ropes on his and YN's hands. 

"I asked you where your loyalties lie," the asshole said, pointing at Merle. "You said here. Well, prove it. Prove it to us all. Brother against brother. Winner goes free." 

What the hell? This asshole really thought Merle'd fight him to prove his loyalty to this crazy-ass town? Daryl glanced over at YN, then back to Merle, not worried. His brother'd tell this asshole to stuff it where the sun don't shine, any minute now-

His brother threw up his hands, silencing the crowd- the crowd of regular people all screaming for his and Merle's and YN's deaths. 

"Y'all know me! I'm gonna do whatever I've gotta do to prove...." 

Daryl wasn't expecting the blow, and while it hurt like a son of a bitch as all the breath went out of him and he hit the ground, it was the betrayal that hurt worse. Merle was kicking him and screaming about his loyalty, and Daryl knew it was over. He was going to die. His girl was going to die, and it was his own damn brother's fault. 

Then she was clinging to his brother's back, getting him into a damn choke hold for a minute, and Daryl was scrambling to his feet, filled with a fresh kind of terror as Merle threw her down and went to kick her too. 

Hell, naw, he wasn't going to lay on her, not while Daryl was still alive to get in his way. 

He flew at his brother, and took him down, but the bastard was laughing like he had when they were kids and Daryl would try to take him. He was playing with Daryl, and it pissed Daryl off. 

He saw his girl get in a solid hit on his brother's side, saw the moment Merle lashed out reflexively and kicked her hard enough to send her down. Then Merle was back on him, with another blow to his gut, and as the wind went out of him, Merle grabbed YN's hand and hauled her to her feet. 

"Just follow my lead, little brother. We're gettin' out of this, right now." 

He didn't question it, because that was his brother's voice, and Merle was standing back to back with his girl, who had her hands up in a fighter's stance as she looked around wildly. He turned and joined them, planting himself back to back with them, but then some fresh hell was happening and they were all surrounded by assholes with walkers on lead poles. 

"Son of a bitch!" Daryl snarled, and did the only thing he could- punching out at the closest one, over and over, trying to get to the brain. He heard Merle's laugh and the thunk of the metal thing he'd put over his missing hand bashed in a walker close to him, too. 

Then he heard the shot, and looked over to see the walker in front of YN go down. He had two seconds before the smoke grenade that followed it went off, and he grabbed wildly for her, shoving her between him and Merle. 

He slapped Merle's shoulder, and saw her put a hand on Merle's back, and he touched her arm to keep them all grounded as they moved. 

Someone shot out the spotlights and it was all darkness and smoke and sudden, heart-stopping terror as her arm left his hand. 

"YN!" Daryl yelled, moving forward with Merle in the direction she had gone. 

She reappeared in an instant, grinning wildly and tossing him his crossbow. 

"Damn fool!" he snarled, but then Rick appeared out of the smoke, calling her name. 

Daryl shoved her in front of him, covering the rear, back to back with his brother. It was a grueling run, but Rick and Maggie led the way and he did it. He got her out of there. 

They were in the woods, running for the car, and he couldn't believe what had happened; couldn't believe Merle was with him and his girl was alive and he was alive. But he knew what was coming, and he was right. 

As soon as the truck came into sight, with Glenn's beat-up figure and the samurai with the sword standing beside it, Glenn started yelling about Merle's presence. 

"No! Rick, you can't be serious! He's the one who brought us here!" 

"He saved our goddamn hides back there!" Daryl yelled back, not caring that Glenn was his friend and had been through hell; it was his brother, and Glenn was just going to have to deal with it. 

"Stop it! Stop it right now!" Rick was in Daryl's face, between him and Glenn. "We do not have time for this! Come on!" Rick nodded over Daryl's shoulder significantly, and he turned. 

"Goddamn it," he muttered under his breath, and he went to YN's side where she was swaying on her feet, eyes glassy and face deathly pale. He slid his arm around her, keeping her on her feet. Rick was talking urgently to Glenn and Maggie, and finally Glenn nodded shortly, climbing into the cab of the truck with Maggie and Rick following. 

The Samurai hopped into the back and settled herself into stillness, her sword across her lap and hands resting on it gently with her eyes closed. Merle climbed up more slowly, looking guilty and sneaking glances at the back of the other three's heads, but then he turned to Daryl and flashed him that shit-eating grin Daryl hated. 

Daryl scooped his girl up, sitting her on the tailgate and watching as her eyes practically fell closed right there. He climbed up and slid her back into his arms, her unbruised cheek against his chest, and slapped the truck twice. 

"Come on, Rick, let's go!" he yelled, then wrapped his arms around his girl, hoping his hands would stop shaking before his brother noticed.


	10. Never Want to Hear My Name That Way Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!! graphic rape/non con discussion!!!!!  
> rape/non con injury discussion  
> PTSD, trauma, past abuse, all the bad stuff
> 
> use caution

Nobody spoke as Rick drove all over the damn place, through what was left of the night. He was trying to keep anyone who might have been following them confused, and Daryl got it, but he still just wanted to take his girl home, damn it. 

She was still asleep, laying on his chest, and that was the only reason he didn't jump out of the truck to start pacing and yelling when Rick pulled to a stop after the sun came up and Glenn came out of the cab yelling about Merle again. 

Look, he felt for the kid, really he did. And he'd beat the shit out of Merle for what he'd done, but why didn't these guys get it? Merle was family. He was blood. 

Daryl Dixon didn't leave his family out in the cold, no matter what. 

He stayed quiet at first, not wanting to wake his girl, and he was surprised and damn happy that his brother stayed quiet to. But then Maggie snapped something about Glenn's face, and Rick shot Daryl an agonized glance, and he had to speak up. 

"Governor's probably on his way to the prison right now. Merle knows how he thinks, and we could use the muscle." 

"I'm not having him there," Maggie said, her voice flat. 

He huffed out his frustration, gesturing a little with one hand. "Come on! You're gonna cut Merle loose, but you'll bring the Last Samurai home?" 

It was something his girl would have said, and he would have smiled at how much she had wormed her way into how he thought and talked, if he hadn't been so worried about everything. 

Rick was shaking his head at him. "She's not coming, either-" he began, but Glenn cut him off, looking at Daryl with angry, pleading eyes. 

"He put a gun to Maggie's head! And do you really want him sleeping in a cell next to Carol or Beth?" 

What the hell was he talking about? Merle was an asshole, sure, but he'd never hurt a woman in his life! His mind flashed guiltily to Merle's foot connecting with YN's side in the arena, but that was different; and besides, he'd helped them get out. He'd made up for it, in Daryl's mind. 

"He ain't a rapist," Daryl finally said, completely confused by Glenn's face and words. 

"Well his buddy is!" Glenn snapped out, and Daryl felt the world stop. 

He focused on Glenn, then his eyes flew to Maggie in Glenn's shirt, and he thought about his girl in his arms wearing some strangers' clothes, and-

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" he growled, low and dangerous and not caring how he sounded. His eyes moved to his brother, who saw his gaze and looked down and away, not moving an inch. 

"Maggie?" he heard Rick whisper, and there was a flash of something in Merle's face, and he knew. He knew, goddamn it. 

"No," Maggie whispered. "Not me." 

Daryl couldn't see; couldn't hear; the world was nothing but the rush of blood to his ears and he thought he knew what YN meant now when she described the way her panic attacks felt, but it wasn't like that. It wasn't panic. Rage flooded every cell of his body, and he held himself perfectly still. 

If he so much as moved one muscle, he would explode, and everyone in Woodbury would die.

Then Maggie's voice was going on, and he was listening, and it was so much worse. 

"She distracted him. He came at me; he could tell she was stronger than I am, so he came to the one he thought would break. And I would have, but then, she just- she pissed him off, and even when he- she didn't tell him anything. She took it for me, and then I'm still the one who broke," Maggie whispered back, her voice ragged. "I'm the one who told him where we were, and how many we are."

Of course she did. Of course his girl would taken something like that on herself. She'd have taken everything thrown at them; hell, she'd have taken the beating and the walker for Glenn if she could have. He just wished he knew- 

No he didn't. He didn't want to know. Didn't want the think about-

But he needed to know. 

And not for any macho sexist bullshit she hated so much, but because if he didn't know, he wouldn't know how to help. He wouldn't know what to do or not do or avoid or what. God fucking damn it. 

His girl. 

If she hadn't been laying in his arms, he'd have killed his brother right there. Merle knew it too, in the way he held himself completely still, the same stillness Daryl was using right now. It was a trick they'd learned when they were kids, hoping that if they were just still enough, their dad wouldn't notice them. 

"When she wakes up, Merle- I'm gonna kill you myself," Daryl promised, and his brother flinched. He flinched, but he wouldn't meet Daryl's eyes. 

Then he felt his girl sigh. "I'm awake, Dixon," she said simply, and he relaxed his grip on her immediately. 

"I need you to get up then, YN," he told her, not looking away from his brother, not able to look her in the eyes and see how much she blamed him for failing her. 

"I don't think so, Daryl," she said gently, kissing his chin, and it was the only thing that could have hurt worse than knowing how badly he'd failed. 

She used his first name. It broke his heart, the way she said it. It was the stranger's voice, and he never wanted to hear his name like that from her again.

Add it to the list of ways. 

He wondered if the stranger's voice was what she'd been like before he met her, when she was with the asshole ex. He wondered how he could have failed to keep her safe so completely, she had to go through something like that again. 

He wondered what he wouldn't do to get revenge for her.

He was going to kill his brother today. And then he was going to walk back to Woodbury and take every last man there apart piece by piece with his bare hands, until he got to the Governor. 

He was going to break every bone in the asshole's body, one at a time, before he snapped his neck and let him turn into one of the rotters. 

Then he'd get to kill him again. 

He just needed her to move, so he could get started. 

"Why the hell not?" he snarled.

She gave some flippant answer he didn't really hear, but then she said something about having broken ribs from where Merle had kicked her and Merle flinched again.  
"... I'm also reasonably certain that as long as I stay here, you're not going to try to kill him," she finished, and his brother laughed. 

His brother fuckin' laughed, and even Rick's gun in Merle's face didn't stop the white hot rage pouring from him. Merle even had the nerve to make some smart-ass comment about her, but she had that well in hand. 

"Shut the fuck up, ok?" she told his brother. "I'm tryin' to keep you alive here, and you runnin' your mouth is not gonna help." 

"I wanna know why you're tryin' to keep him alive," Daryl growled. "You should let me kill him and be done with it."

She shifted in his arms a little, and he wondered how much pain she was in. He'd had broken ribs before. Those sons of bitches hurt like hell.

"Because, Dixon, he's your brother. You told me how hard it was to leave him behind the first day we met. You wear his vest everywhere. Hell, you drive his damn bike. I'm pretty sure you'd be a little upset later if you killed him now that you've found him again."

She was right, and he tuned out the others' conversations as he thought about that, but he came to the conclusion that he didn't give a good damn about that when he weighed it against what Merle had taken his girl to. 

"We need him," she was saying calmly, and he exploded. 

"Like hell we do!"

"Dixon, please," she said, and he was getting so used to her almost-but-not-quite voice that he had almost forgotten what it was like when it was real, but the way his name fell flat this time reminded him and he felt the stab all over again. "You and I both know you're going to forgive him. He helped us get out." 

Then she paused for a moment, and he could practically feel the gears in that incredible mind turning, and she stopped his heart with her next, careful words. "Actually, I think he was tryin' to help us- me, Maggie, and Glenn- get out even earlier."

"What are you talking about?" Glenn said quietly.

"Merle." Her voice was flat, but he had heard that pained grunt, and once again he wondered just how much pain she was hiding under that dead voice. He wondered if he'd ever hear her voice again, or if she'd ever trust him- hell, trust anyone- enough to let all that pain out.

"Don't bullshit me or give me any of your crap. Just answer me. When you came to the cell with the one other henchman, when we attacked you with the walker bones, were you going to help us get out?" she continued, and Daryl couldn't move; couldn't breathe; couldn't think about anything else. 

Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have to kill his brother today. Maybe, if he really had tried to help her, they'd all make it out of this. 

God, he didn't want to kill his brother. He'd just found him again. 

Then Merle looked his girl in the eyes and started speaking. 

"I'm an asshole. I'm an old, ignorant, redneck asshole. I've done a lot of awful things in my life. I've killed people, even before the dead started walkin'. I abandoned my little brother with our abusive father, foolin' myself into believin' dear old dad would only have hit me, not him. I made things worse in Atlanta, and was plannin' on robbin' those people blind before haulin' ass away from them with little brother here. I've been a crude, stubborn hick all my life, little better than a druggie and a brawler." 

Merle's words blew his mind. His brother had never admitted to abandoning him before, never acknowledged the drug problem Daryl had spent years trying to quietly manage, never talked about the things he'd done for the US government. Then he looked Daryl dead in the eyes, and he couldn't look away, hanging on his brother's every word like a lifeline. 

"But I have never laid a hand on a woman without her permission. I've never struck a woman neither, except the dead, until I kicked you in that arena, and I wouldn't have done that either if I had seen another way around it. Oh, I'd kill a woman, no question, especially if she were tryin' to kill me, but I'd do it fast and I'd do it clean. I'm goin' to hell when I die, little brother, but I swear on whatever might be above, I didn't know he could do a thing like that. I've never been so damn ashamed in my life as I was when he walked those two in there, half naked, and I saw those hand prints he left on your woman's back."

Jesus fuckin' Christ. Daryl felt his eyes fill at his brother's words, and he wasn't ashamed to let anyone see him cry. He could picture his girl, walking strong and tall in the face of everything, and no wonder she looked and sounded like she did. She'd had to kill off a part of herself just to survive, and he only hoped, desperately, wildly, that the woman he loved could be brought back to life. 

But Merle wasn't done yet, and Daryl didn't care about the tears on his cheeks as his brother looked down into YN's eyes and continued. 

"I was comin' to help you. He'd ordered you moved, and I was gonna do it myself. Kill the other guy, have one of you give me a couple good hard blows, and say you escaped. But when you attacked, it drew the others. Had to make it look real, or he'd'a just ordered you dead on the spot, and me with ya."

"Fuck," Daryl said, holding her arm tight as his woman nodded at his brother, and Rick dropped his gun. "Fuck." 

Merle was telling the goddamn truth. It was the same look he'd seen in his eyes the day Merle told him he was walking away, leaving, joining the army and getting out of their hellhole life. It was the same look he'd seen when Merle came to him in the little shack in the woods he'd been using as a base for a hunt, and told him the damn dead were walking and it was time to get the hell out of dodge. Merle was telling the truth. 

Maybe- maybe his brother didn't have to die.

"How'd you know?" Glenn was asking, and Daryl didn't really care, but he listened as she answered anyway. 

"It was in his eyes. I was watching him, while we were in that room. I saw the way he looked at me, at Maggie, at the- the Governor-"

She stuttered over his name, her voice raw and stark and he heard the terror in it and cursed the man over and over again in his mind as he wrapped an arm around her instinctively. She grabbed his hand and gripped it tight, and he was so relieved he missed the next part of their discussion.

She was reaching for him. She was in there, somewhere. Hell, he'd been holding her this whole time; maybe- maybe she still trusted him.

"Don't think I've forgotten about that walker," she was warning his brother. "When I can get some force behind it again, one day when you least expect it, I'm gonna punch you in the face for that." 

The sudden, open shock of his own laugh spilled out and startled even him, but he couldn't help it. She and the others probably thought he was laughing at her words, and he heard his brother join in and say something back to her, but it was relief that had him laughing; because that had been her voice, her real voice, just a flash like when she'd told him she loved him. 

She'd been through hell, killed a part of her soul and went through the worst thing for her- and he fucking knew it was the worst thing in the world she could have happen; he'd heard her stories about her past, damn it all- to save someone else the trauma. And then she'd told him she loved him. 

He wished he believed it was anything more than trauma, relief at not being abandoned there alone, and believing they were going to die. 

He loved her so damn much, had for ages, but he wasn't going to tell her now. He wouldn't take that arena confession as real. He'd wait, and see if she found her way back, and maybe then- maybe when she was her again.

Merle looked at him and grinned. "I think you might have just found yourself the baddest bitch in the world, baby brother."

"Yeah," Daryl said, smug and not caring. She was going to be ok. Not today, not tomorrow, but that had been her under there, and he'd be by her side to help her find her way back, no matter how long it took. 

She was trying to push them along, to get them to agree and get back on the road, and sure enough, Glenn and Maggie said yes to her plan for Merle. But then Rick started talking about the samurai, and frankly Daryl had forgotten she was there and really didn't give a crap one way or another. 

But his girl leaned forward and then swayed, clutching her side and half-yelling, "Jesus!" 

"Woman, how bad are you hurt?" he said, frantic, but she brushed him off and kept talking to Rick. 

He wasn't really listening to what she and the Samurai and the others were going on about, because he'd heard it all before. He was watching her, and how she was moving, and the slight shivers that started going through her. She was too damn pale, and her skin looked clammy. 

She relaxed into his arms, and he held on to her as she kept talking to Rick. She was obviously exhausted and he was thinking she might have a fever, and he was about to intervene as Rick tried to argue with whatever she had planned, but she snapped at Rick and broke Daryl's heart all over again. 

"Come on, Rick! Look, we could debate some more, but I'm pretty sure I've got broken ribs, I need a vaginal exam and some antibiotics, and I'm pretty certain I'm going to need some stitches. Or hasn't anyone noticed the blood on my jeans? Also, I might have another concussion from when he slammed me on the table. And that's not even touching on Glenn. So can we, please, please, just fuckin' go?" 

Daryl sucked in a breath, glaring at Rick as his friend's face paled. Before Daryl could snarl at him to get his ass moving, Maggie and Glenn were rushing around the truck and Rick was leaping back behind the wheel and taking off like a crazed person. 

 

Daryl appreciated that, because he was feeling crazed himself, holding his girl tight and muttering curses over and over as she started to shake violently in his arms. Her breath hitched every time Rick hit a bump, and Daryl wanted to scream and break something, someone, anyone.

She started talking, exchanging insults with Merle, and Daryl knew he'd been part of the conversation, but he couldn't have told anyone what was said. He covered her in his vest, the only thing he had, and prayed Rick would move faster. 

Her words, that dead voice, circled his head- broken ribs, vaginal exam, stitches, concussion. Holy mother fucking hell. Why hadn't she ended the damn debate earlier? Hell, she could have avoided the whole damn thing! 

Or hasn't anyone noticed the blood on my jeans? Fuck. That was going to haunt him for the rest of his life, because son of a bitch, he hadn't. He hadn't even noticed. 

The Governor had hurt his girl so badly she was bleeding in her fuckin' pants and he hadn't even noticed. 

Why couldn't Rick fuckin' drive faster? 

Then Rick stopped so hard she was thrown and she screamed; and he yelled a curse at Rick, even as his friend came around and eased her out of the truck. His brother hopped down too, taking YN by the elbow to steady her. Daryl leapt from the truck, snarled, and scooped her into his arms. 

"Get Glenn!" he snapped, heading straight to the cell block door.


	11. Her Voice Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!! rape/non con warning!!!!!!!  
> discussion/treatment of injuries from rape/non con  
> PTSD, trauma, past abuse, 
> 
> use caution

Inside, he barely spared a glance at the four people huddled in the corner. Hershel looked up as Daryl charged down the steps, then rose to his feet swiftly. 

"How bad?" he asked, seeing YN in Daryl's arms. 

"Bad enough," he snarled, carrying his girl into the cells. "Help Glenn," he snapped at Carol, and then he was laying her down. 

She was too pale, and shaking, and sweaty, and he saw the blood now. 

Everything in him went cold, and it was everything he could do not to shove Hershel away from her as he came in and set aside his crutches. 

"Alright now," the older man was saying. "What needs looking at, YN?" 

"Everything," he snarled, and his girl squeezed his hand. 

"Daryl," she whispered, a warning not to take things out on Hershel, and he leaned his forehead against the edge of the bed, taking deep breaths to try to calm down. She was listing things for Hershel, and he he couldn't help the guilt. 

"I think my ribs are broken. I was knocked out, then my head was slammed against a table later. And-" 

She broke off, and he didn't think she even knew what moved across her face. It was terror, plain and simple, and it broke his heart. 

"Bastard raped her," he snarled, sparing her the pain of getting the words out. 

He was barely holding it together and he knew it, and he owed Hershel more than he could say for the calm professional manner the vet had adopted. 

But when he reached for her shirt to undo it- his brother's shirt, three sizes too big and dirty black contrasting with her too-pale skin and the forming bruises on her face- and she grabbed Hershel's hands to stop him-

His heart cracked again at the way her voice shook and then went dead, as she practically begged him to get her something to cover herself while Hershel looked at her ribs. 

He was crying and didn't care, but he helped her pull on a sports bra as she kept her back to them, exchanging a panicked looked with Hershel, who gave a calming gesture in return. 

Then she turned back to them, easing back down and taking his hand. He cradled her hand in his and tried to remember to breathe as he got a look at her abdomen. 

He knew what a broken rib looked like, and the bloom of red and purple bruises on her side looked familiar. When she cried out as Hershel probed gently, he could have ripped the man's hands off, if he weren't terrified to let go of her hand. 

Then there was the line of them across her stomach, and he felt his own stomach churn at the thought of what that bastard had done to his girl to put those there. 

She was telling him she was fine, and said something about kicking his idiot brother's ass. 

"I'll do it for you," he snarled, and ignored Hershel's response. 

He'd just noticed the bruises on her hips, the ones with separate, distinct marks that looked like fingers. Then Hershel was talking to her, asking in his gentle voice for details, and Daryl saw the moment she was swept under into the panic he couldn't believe she'd kept at bay this long. 

Her eyes went blank and glassy and wide; her breath came in those little gasping stutters; and her face contorted as her mind shut down. 

"Shit," he muttered, moving to her and putting a hand on her cheek. She twitched away at first, and he almost pulled back, but then her eyes looked into his. He started some mindless monologue of nonsense, remembering her saying it soothed her and that she listened to him in moments like this, staring into eyes that were looking at him, but not really seeing him. 

He wondered if she knew how long it took to calm her, if she realized that the minutes sometimes stretched on endlessly, like now, as she was buried somewhere in her own mind, every thought, every fear, every flinch written plain on her face for him to read. She'd described it to him, once, from her perspective, and he hadn't had the heart to tell her that what seemed fast to her, a sudden snap into panic and an equally sudden snap back out, was often an agonizing eternity for those on the other end, watching her fight her way through her own mind. 

He saw her coming back to herself, heard the way her lungs started to fill more deeply and watched her eyes start to clear. Then she was laying a hand over his and apologizing, and nothing have hurt worse than her trying to apologize. Nothing. 

He was wrong.

She had taken a shaky breath, and then she was gone. The light, the warmth, the her- it was gone, and her eyes and voice were that awful blankness that would haunt him for countless sleepless nights, and she described in clinical detail what the bastard had done to her. 

He'd slammed his girl face down into a table, threatened her, terrorized her. He'd held her so hard he'd left his hands on her skin, and Daryl was going to leave his own hands on the Governor's real soon. He'd raped Daryl's girl, forced Maggie to watch, slamming her into the table over and over again. 

Daryl knew the man had been trying to make it as painful as possible. It wasn't about sex or want or desire. The man had been after his girl's pain, and he'd known all the right buttons to push to get it. And when she hadn't cracked- he'd heard the faint flicker, the tiniest hint of pride in her voice as she'd said that she didn't flinch or cry out or say anything except to reassure Maggie- when she hadn't cracked, he'd gotten pissed. 

He'd put his girl through all that, and it wasn't enough to make her crack. She wouldn't give up their base just to save herself. 

Goddamn woman with her hero complex. 

Daryl stayed still, holding his body in place by sheer force of will, to hear every word. If she had lived through it, he could hear it. When she was done, he couldn't hold it in anymore, and he exploded to his feet and paced the tiny cell, desperately seeking control. 

Or someone to kill. 

He couldn't stop picturing the one-eyed asshole slamming his girl into a table, over and over. He was flashing to the bruises on her hips, and he couldn't stop seeing hands there, holding her still. Holding her in a cage. Trapping her like she was nothing but a piece of meat, not the wild and free and goddamn fierce warrior she was. He kept picturing the edge of a table, and he'd-

Well, Daryl'd had enough sex to know that even angry, bitter, hate-fueled sex didn't go like that. 

He was going to kill someone, right now, if he didn't get himself under control.

He was afraid, for a moment, that he was going to kill the man trying to help her, just for asking her to talk about it. 

Hershel was telling him to calm down, and he turned on him with a snarl, the caged beast who looked like his father rearing its ugly head, but she stopped him in his tracks, whispering his name brokenly. 

Pleading for his help. 

He had to give it. He held her, feeling the way she used that careful controlled stillness, as if as long as she could stay utterly motionless, she'd have some measure of control over what was happening to her. 

And then the old man said she needed stitches, and Daryl didn't even know what he was thinking or feeling anymore, just that someday, somehow, he would make the asshole bleed for this. 

And he was going to punch Merle, too. 

His girl, his fierce warrior, asked for his brother's help over Maggie's. Here she was, about to go through something he couldn't even form the words to think about, and she was thinking about someone else, and sparing them pain. 

"Why the hell would I get Merle?" he asked her, understanding why she didn't want Maggie, but not why she'd want his brother. 

"Because I already hate him a little bit, so it won't be any worse if he's holdin' me down. And I know he won't freak out over how bad it is. Plus, when you feel like punching the person hurting me in the face, I won't have to object if it's Merle."

She was thinking about him, and how he would react to someone hurting her. Goddamn, she was something like he'd never seen before, and he didn't know how she was doing it. 

"Go on, Dixon, I don't have all day here!" she snapped at him, and he was on his feet and out of the cell without another thought. 

 

He got back to the common room just in time to see Rick freak the hell out, swinging his gun and screaming at nothing. 

"Damn it, Rick! Damn it!" he found himself screaming. Carl's face was white in the background, and everyone was scared. 

The four new people went running at Glenn's urging, but Daryl didn't care. He was up in Rick's face, yelling at him about he didn't even know what. Something had snapped, all the fear and rage he felt back in the cell pouring out at his friend. 

"Now is not the time! It's not the time, Rick! Get yourself together; I do not have time for your shit! Do you know what he did to her? Do you know?" Daryl was yelling, and Rick wasn't even looking at him. 

"Hey, hey, little brother! Little brother!" Merle was on his arm, pulling him back from Rick, and Daryl turned on him. 

It was his goddamn fault. He'd taken her there. He'd put her in that room, and he was the only one Daryl blamed who was here at hand, and he'd touched him. 

Hell, right now, Daryl didn't even need a goddamn reason.

He shoved his brother back against the wall, slamming his fist into Merle's face once, twice, and hauling back for a third. His brother just held his hands up, gesturing his friends back when they started for him, and that just pissed him off more. 

Then her voice cut through the chaos. 

"Son of a bitch, both Dixons better get their asses in here right the fuck now!" 

All the anger flooded out of him, replaced by shame. He was failing her. Again. 

She needed him, needed his help to fix what had been broken, and all he was doing was beating the shit out of someone he cared about to work through his own inadequacies. Just like his dad. And just like his dad, he'd chosen to beat on Merle.

"Come with me," he growled at Merle, turning around and stalking back to the cells. To her. 

She was gone again when he got there, that blank emptiness in her eyes and her face, and he saw Merle jerk when he saw it. His brother covered it with a joke, but his girl wasn't having any of it. 

"Shut the fuck up. Just shut the fuck up. I need stitches, Merle, from what your bastard boss did. Plus, you broke one of my ribs, and I'm goin' to kick your ass for that later, when it doesn't hurt so much to just fuckin' breathe. But right now, the doc here is goin' to be causin' me some pain, and you need to hold me down so I don't start thrashin' around while he does," her voice was devoid of all emotion, even as she delivered her usual fast-moving pattern of speech, the words and the pace correct, but there was nothing-- 

His brother was pale and terrified, and Daryl couldn't fault him. But Merle followed Hershel's instructions and Daryl held his girl, whispering nonsense in her ear as she held herself to that impossible stillness. 

When she screamed, long and primal and heartbreaking, he was crying, weeping into her hair as he talked to her. She didn't so much as twitch in his arms, just screamed wordless and pain-filled rage.

"That's it, you're doin' great, baby, just hold on. Just hold on, woman, I got you. Oh, God, I'm so sorry; I'm so sorry. Jesus, I love you. I love you. I love you," he was repeating, endlessly, just trying to say whatever he could as she stopped screaming. 

Hershel was talking, a low steady background noise, and then it was over. 

His girl was laying there, covered in bruises and stitches and having just been held down, and she was asking about the others. He knew that face, even behind the blank emptiness that was still replacing her eyes. 

"Is she ok to walk around, Hershel?" he asked quietly, and Hershel frowned but agreed. There was no arguing with that face, and like hell was he going to try to make her do anything she didn't want to do. 

His girl was anxious to get moving, but he couldn't do it. Not yet. 

"Just- just wait a minute," Daryl said, his voice ragged. "Just- come here. Please."

He laid down beside her and pulled his girl in to rest against his chest. He didn't relax until her fingers came up and tangled themselves in his shirt, and then he let out a broken sigh. He buried his face in her hair, feeling the tears pouring from his eyes again.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," he said, again. "I should have found you faster. I should have- I should have been with you. I'm so sorry."

He couldn't stop the way his brain raced, and his hands shook as he held her to him. He'd failed his girl, failed her in every way possible. 

And she was trying to calm him down. "It's not your fault. Don't take this on, Daryl. Don't. I'm ok. I survived, and Glenn survived, and Maggie didn't get hurt."

"How the hell are you talkin' about Maggie right now?" he snapped. "She's fine. You're the one covered in bruises and stitches- Jesus!"

"That's why. That's why I'm talkin' about Maggie. Because I'm terrified, Daryl, and I don't want to be. So I'm reminding myself of why I did it. Because I can handle it. And I knew- in that room, when that man came in, I knew it would be bad." 

Her voice had lost some of the blankness, but he could hear her pressing it all under. She was talking, but she wasn't processing. 

Did she have any idea how bad off she even was? 

"As soon as he told us to take our shirts off, I knew I had to protect Maggie. She's so strong, but she's never- she's never had somethin' like this happen before. It would have broken her, and I knew it wouldn't break me. If it didn't break me when it was someone who claimed to love me, then it couldn't break me if it was just some dick trying to get information. I'm stronger than that."

He couldn't stand it. He was so angry, so scared, so ready to kill someone, anyone, that he had to lighten his grip on her, afraid he would hurt her if he wasn't so incredibly careful. "You are the toughest son of a bitch in the world, and I love you so much. I love you. Oh, God, this is not how I wanted to say it the first time, but I love you. And I'm gonna kill him. I promise."

He heard the rawness of his own voice, and he didn't care. 

"I hope I get to watch," she said, and he laughed because he knew she wanted him to. She curled into him more, and he tried to relax, tried to feel some relief that she was in his arms, but he couldn't. 

"I love you, too," she whispered. 

And it was her voice again.


	12. Everyone's Talking But Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Needed to clear my head and work out a little writer's block over on 'Those Who Arrive', so please enjoy some more of Daryl's perspective of 'Blood and Bone and Arrows'. I'm going to keep this one open ended, so if I want to I can continue his perspective through 'Those Who Arrive' and anything that might come after. Thanks for reading, and as always, take care of yourselves while you read! 
> 
> mentions of rape/non con  
> mentions of past abuse

He talked to Rick, once Rick was back to being Rick. And he talked to Hershel, and he talked to Merle. 

He talked to a lot of people. 

He tried to talk to her. 

He tried, damn it. But she wouldn't- hell, she didn't even know how messed up she was. 

He growled, laying on his back, tinkering with his bike's engine. He'd cleared out so that YN could see Hershel, something that had happened nearly every day that week. 

He didn't mind, since he was the one who had taken the man aside and asked him to use her injuries to check up on her. It seemed to be doing good, too, but he just didn't know. 

"Damn it," he muttered, realizing he was just laying there under the bike, doing nothing but worrying. 

Like he'd been doing for a week now. 

"Come on, little brother," Merle's voice came. "If you're just gonna sit around and worry, you could do it a lot easier in the cell with her." 

"I ain't worryin'," he muttered. "And I'm givin' her some-" 

"Some space, yeah, I know." 

"What?" Daryl snapped, scooting backward until he could sit up and look at his brother. 

Merle leaned against the wall beside him, unlit cigarette in his hand. He was looking up at the guard tower, where Daryl knew Glenn stood. His brother feeling guilty was something Daryl had never seen before. 

Hell, his brother had been doin' a lot of things Daryl had never seen from him before. Like givin' a shit what his younger brother was worried about. 

Like giving a shit, period. 

"You got somethin' to say, Merle?" he growled up to him, propping one hand on his knee. 

"Same thing I've been sayin' every time I catch you starin' at that girl or out at nothin' with that face." 

"Shut up, asshole," Daryl muttered, but he stood up and dusted absently at his pants. 

"You gotta stop treatin' that woman like a victim, little brother. She's just gonna run if you keep holdin' her at arm's length," his brother said seriously. 

Daryl sighed, and leaned against the wall. "She says that to me all the time, you know," he muttered. 

"What?" 

"Not to treat her like a victim," he said, scuffing his boots on the ground. 

Merle chuckled a little, rolling the cigarette between his fingers. "No shit. Maybe ya outta listen then, baby bro." 

"Yeah." 

"Aw, come on now. What the hell's the damn problem? I saw that girl today while you all were fixin' that gate. She's fine, brother. She got some demons to fight, sure thing- ain't no doubt about that. We've all heard a few of those nightmares," he added, voice going hard. "But she knows what she can handle. You gotta trust her." 

"She's not ok," Daryl snarled. "She says she is, and we're all walkin' around her actin' like we believe her. But you can't see it. You didn't know her before. I did. And my girl-" he broke off, shoving off from the wall to pace. 

"She's been fine today. Yeah, I see that too. But she- I've seen her eyes, Merle. I have nightmares about her eyes, and I ain't had nightmares in my life. I watched Dad beat the shit out of you; I came home to our house in flames and somebody tellin' me Mom was dead-" he shook his head with a snarl. 

"Hell, I got lost in the woods when I was younger'n Sofia, ain't nobody even noticed. Then you left, and Dad beat the shit outta me for awhile. And I never had a nightmare. Never woke up in a cold sweat, heart poundin', like I do now. And it's her. It's her damn eyes, lookin' like one of those walkers out there!" He stood still, staring out beyond the fence. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer. 

"Her eyes are blank like that a lot. Not as bad, but- I see her leave. I can watch, in the middle of a conversation, as the woman I love just leaves her own damn mind. And I- I can't do- shit. Shit!" he yelled. 

"I know," Merle said softly behind him. 

"You don't know jack, Merle," he snapped over his shoulder. 

"That's where you're wrong, baby brother. I didn't know her before. But every damn person here knows what you're talkin' about. You ain't the only one cares about her, man. And you forget, I saw her in that shed. I saw her when he pulled her into the room." Merle stopped, his voice rough, and cleared his throat.

"Them eyes? I got a good look at 'em. Dead. Like there was no spark inside, none of that- that life that makes her such a pistol. She puts on a good show. Hell, I don't think she even knows what she's doin'. She thinks she's healin', but she's just shoving it under. So you gotta let her, until she's ready. Cause it's gonna come out, and it's gonna be ugly," Merle warned. 

Daryl turned back around to glare at him. "So what? I just gotta wait for her to fall apart?" 

"Pretty much, son," Merle agreed. "And you treat her like she asks. You make that woman feel broken, pretty soon she'll believe she is broken. And that'd be a damn shame. So just talk to her, little bro. Tell her what's goin' on in that head of yours. Cause she needs to hear it." 

Daryl sighed, kicking at the ground, as Merle pushed off the wall and tucked the cigarette behind his ear. His brother took a few steps to him and put his hand on Daryl's shoulder. 

"Then you gotta trust her to know what to do for herself. Alright? Trust her. Talk to her. Tomorrow," he clapped Daryl on the shoulder twice, and walked away. 

Daryl groaned in frustration, kicking at the back tire of his bike. 

"Don't you take your shit out on my bike, now!" Merle called. "I'll have to come hurt your face!" 

"It's my bike now, asshole!" Daryl yelled back. 

 

Carol got to him next. 

It was like she was waiting for him, and he wouldn't friggin' put it past her. He swung into the cells, on his way to their room to check on how his girl's meeting with the doc had gone. Carol was waiting in the common area, plates with something she'd scrounged up from their supplies lined up on the tables waiting for everyone to trickle in and grab one. 

"Daryl? Grab a plate," she said, and it wasn't a suggestion. He glanced from her to the cell block and she shook her head with a smile. 

"She's not in there, pookie. So grab a plate." 

He grabbed a plate, dropping backward onto the bench beside her. He leaned on the table with his elbow, eating the whatever with his fingers. She just sat, fingers laced around a bottle of water, and smiled at him faintly. 

"Pookie?" he asked her with a quirk of his eyebrow. 

She just grinned. 

"What?" he finally asked. "You gonna talk to me too?" 

"Someone else give you a speech?" she asked mildly. 

He snorted. "Rick. Hershel. Hell, Merle." 

"Well, honey, have you considered listening to them?" Her overly-reasonable tone made him snort again. 

When were these people going to figure out what he could already see? She wasn't ok. 

"She ain't ok," he whispered, setting his now-empty plate behind him. "Don't know why everybody- includin' her- won't stop pretendin' she is. She shouldn't be goin' out on the damn run with me tomorrow." 

Carol sighed and laid a hand on his arm. "Honey, I know you just want to protect her, but you've got to lay off. Let her be. She'll come to you. And for God's sake, don't try to cage her up in here. That'll never work." She shook her head and stood up from the table. 

"You know we're members of a sorry little club, sweetie. You, me, her, Merle- the four of us know what it is to be treated like shit by those we love. So you know as well as I do that it takes time." 

"But she ain't takin' the time! She wants to get back out there!" Daryl exploded to his feet, pacing and gesturing wildly. "She don't talk about it; won't let me take care of her. She won't rest, won't stay here where it's safe! Bastard's still out there, and she wants to go out there too! I can't protect her if she's not where it's safe, goddamn it!" 

His chest was heaving and he realized he'd been yelling. He turned and flashed Carol a guilty wordless apology, but she waved him away. 

"I'm beginning to see the problem here, I think," she said, frowning at him. "You think she needs to wallow to heal. That's not how people work. I don't talk about Ed, but I healed. You don't talk about your dad, but look at the man you are now." 

He snorted at that. "Yeah, the kind who beats up on his brother when he's pissed at the world. The kind who yells at his friend when she talks to him. The kind that lets his girl run straight into danger and get hurt in the worst fuckin' way." 

"Oh, shut up," Carol snapped, and he turned to her in surprise. She just shook her head, arms crossed over her chest. 

"I never took you for one who would play the victim over this, Daryl Dixon." 

"The hell you talkin' about?" he growled, glaring right back at her. 

"You. Taking on all this guilt over what happened to her, making it your fault for not keeping her safe. It's such a typical male bullshit response, and I'm ashamed of you. She's not the kind to hide behind anyone, and that's what drew you to her. Now you're angry because she got hurt and you want her to stay behind walls where you can wrap her in bubble wrap and padding? Bullshit. You'd kill her spirit and get bored with her in a week." Carol's eyes flashed as she put him squarely in his place. 

Damn, he hated it, but she was right. He wanted his girl to sit at home, be messed up and waiting for him to take care of what had hurt her. 

It wasn't because he didn't think she could handle herself. It wasn't because he wanted her broken. God help him, he was an asshole sometimes, but it wasn't like that at all. 

He just wanted her safe. But he wanted her safe to soothe his own guilt, to make him feel like he was protecting her now when he hadn't before. He was forgetting that she could protect her damn self, and he was ignoring what she was clearly telling him she needed in order to try to force her into what he needed. 

Son of a bitch.


	13. Can't Win For Losing

They went. They talked. He got a glimpse into her mind, why the way he fussed made her react the way it did; he gave her a look into his, and an apology. 

He hadn't meant things to go as far as they did, him all over her like a teenage asshole who couldn't control his hormones. She didn't seem to mind though, and the fact that she still wanted him that way, even after everything? 

Well, it was a blessing he hadn't really hoped for. 

But he was still gonna make her take it damn slow. 

 

She was right; he damn well didn't like it. He paced the room, staring at her, and she sat there on the steps, just watching him. 

Her face was blank, not like when she wasn't in there, just her waiting. She wasn't trying to convince him, wasn't listening to Merle and Rick as his brother yelled over his friend. 

She was waiting for him to make a decision. 

His gut said no. His heart said no. He wanted to scream and shout and shake some sense into her, but that simple patience made him stop. Made him think. Made him consider. 

Son of a bitch, he hated that he was even considering this idiocy. 

But damn it all, he was, and she was right. If she could pull it off, and still be her after- his heart clenched as he flashed to her dead eyes, the her-but-wrong voice as she asked Rick for a weapon- 

If she could do it, and they could do their part, it was the best damn chance they had. 

He owed it to her to trust her. 

He was across the room and crouching in front of her, and he didn't remember moving. Her eyes were guarded and wary as she waited for him to speak, but he just brushed his fingers over her lips and her cheek for a moment. 

Studying her. Memorizing her. Trying to tell her without a word that she was his world, his everything, and that he didn't know what he'd do if he lost her. 

"I hate this," he whispered finally, and she nodded. 

"I know. I'm sorry," she whispered back. 

"I know," he said, because he did. If he knew one thing, it was that she was sorry- not for herself, not for the hell that she was suggesting going through, but for him. For how he would feel about all this. "You sure about it? Can ya handle it?" 

It the only question that mattered. He knew she'd say yes, or give some kind of flippant answer, but he was watching her eyes. If she showed a flicker of doubt, of fear; if her eyes went dead, he'd say no, and he'd make her listen. 

But they didn't. Her eyes were hers, clear and certain and warm as she smiled and gave the joking answer he'd suspected she would. 

Damn it all to hell. 

They were gonna do this.


	14. Bloody Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions of past drug use and overdose  
> mentions of past rape/non con  
> mentions of torture  
> anxiety attacks/PTSD

Daryl'd never really given much thought to marriage or any of that shit, not until he'd seen the mushy look on his girl's face as she watched Maggie and Glenn. 

He hadn't known what was going on, but she'd looked so dang happy as she shushed him that he'd just rested his chin on her shoulder and soaked it up. 

When Maggie came over with that dazed, thrilled look and Glenn followed lookin' like the happiest bastard in the world, even he'd been a little sentimental about it. 

And he couldn't argue that they were pretty fuckin' perfect together, he mused as he watched his asshole brother perform the ceremony. 

He'd never thought Merle'd do another one, after his dealer had traded Merle a wedding service for a bunch of meth, X, and other crap that Daryl had ended up in the clink for. It'd been a week before Merle had bailed him out, high as a kite again already, and it was only another three days before they'd gone to visit the lovebirds and found Merle's dealer crying on the floor and his young wife dead in a puddle of her own vomit. 

Merle had gone on a three week bender after that, and Daryl had just done his best to keep him alive and out of jail and fed. 

But today was a good day, and his brother looked happy to be doin' something good. Maggie was beaming and Glenn looked like he'd been hit over the head with a concrete block, but in a good way, and his girl- 

His girl was leaning into him and crying a little as she smiled up at them, fingers pressed against her lips; and suddenly Daryl Dixon was getting some ideas of his own. 

 

He'd forced her to lay down, get some damn rest, when she would have stayed up all night pacing nervously. 

He'd run his fingers through her hair, over and over, as much for his own sake as hers. 

In the dark, after she was asleep, he'd let his mind run over all the things that could go wrong the next day. He'd let himself imagine that they failed; that they all died; that she was captured and he couldn't get to her. 

He went through all of it in his mind, while he held his girl, so he would be clear headed and focused while she wasn't in his arms. 

This was going to be a pisser of a day, he thought as the sun rose in a streak of bloody red across the sky. 

 

She did it. 

She actually did it; fooled and distracted him enough that they took all his people without a single death. 

Not even his, the bastard, since she'd stopped him after three shots. 

Daryl would have put a dozen more in him before he let the bastard die, but she had first rights to the asshole's life. She wanted Daryl to stop, he'd stopped. 

Now he held her close in the bus, ignoring the woman- somethin' or other with a K- who stared openly at the two of them and Rick and Michonne. 

His girl was asleep, the exhaustion evident in her face, and he thought about the Governor's hands yanking her around by her hair and his blood boiled all over again. 

He reminded himself that the asshole was under guard right now, probably bleeding out in one of the cells, and tried to settle himself down. They weren't done yet, and Barbie needed their help.

He was an asshole. He was idiot and an asshole and he'd never even thought- 

She was shaking against him, so hard he was afraid she'd damage something internally, and she was screaming into his chest with a voice so hoarse he hoped she didn't hurt her vocal chords either. 

He never should have let her come. He should have insisted she stay at the prison, help the others settle in. But she'd been so confident, and she'd handled everything without a pause, and he'd never even thought- 

And he'd brought her right back to the very damn place where she'd been hurt, and now she was losing it in his arms. 

It was the breakdown he'd been waiting for, no doubt, and he was almost grateful she was finally letting it all out. 

But he was still an asshole. 

He kept up a steady stream of words as she puked up what little she'd eaten in days, not even listening to himself, as she sagged bonelessly in his arms. He flashed to her held in Shane's grip, to him firing once and her falling, and he tightened his arms around her even more and held her up. 

He'd never let her fall. 

"I can't go in there," she whispered, and he growled, shaking his head. 

"No one's askin' ya to. I'm so sorry." Shame boiled up in him that he'd never even given it a thought. After all his worrying, all his determination to look out for her, and he'd walked her right into this place. Right into the memories. 

Hell, he'd been turning to hold open the door when he saw her. 

"Please. Can you take me home? I know there's stuff to do still, but they have cars here. Please?" She was begging him, he heard it in her voice, and that just about snapped his heart in two. 

"Yeah. Hold on a minute," he said, trying not to let it show. Keeping it together like she needed. 

Rick looked pale and angry as he came out, catching Daryl's eyes and talking before Daryl had the chance. 

He felt bad about Andrea, but not enough to care. When Rick asked about her a moment later, Daryl knew he bit the man's head off. He didn't really care. 

"No, Rick, she's not ok. What were we thinkin' bringin' her here? I'm takin' her home. She said 'please'. Twice. After she damn near shattered she was shakin' so hard. I've never seen her like that, never." 

Rick's eyes were sad and guilty as he looked over at Daryl's girl, nodding already and talking to Tyreese. He glared at Rick until Rick lowered his voice to explain what had happened to Tyreese, looking over his shoulder to check on her. 

She stood, arms wrapped around herself, back firmly to the shack, and she looked so damn small. 

He hated it when she looked small. She was larger than life most of the time, full of such fire she seemed to tower above everything around her. 

He was more determined than ever that this time, this time, he'd take care of her. Whatever she needed.


	15. His Name on Her Lips

He leaned over the display case with his brother at his side smirking at him. He scanned anxiously, looking for something that made him think of her. 

"Ain't rocket science, little brother," Merle put in from his side. "Just pick a rock already. She's so far gone on you, it ain't gonna matter anyway." 

Merle was acting like an asshole, not that that came as a surprise, but as Daryl shot him a look he caught the affection in his brother's eyes. 

It'd been six months since the Governor died, and Daryl still wasn't used to the way Merle was. He was more open, more relaxed, more happy than Daryl had literally ever seen in his life. 

It was the brother he'd always wanted to have; had convinced himself Merle was before the world had proven him wrong. Before she'd shown him what it really looked like when someone cared about him. 

He couldn't believe how lucky he'd become. The past few months had been unbelievable, full of his girl and his brother and his friends establishing a real home, a real community. He loved being a part of it in a way he'd never expected from himself, as antisocial as he'd been all his life. He was enjoying being a leader, bringing people in and being on Rick's Council and taking care of things. 

Now he wanted that community, that family, to be real. He wanted to show the world what he was building with his woman. 

He wanted to show her what he wanted to build with her. 

"It does matter, you asshole. Thought you were gonna help," he hissed at Merle, looking over his shoulder to see if she'd come back yet. 

The coast was clear, and he bent back over the case as Merle let out a sigh and came closer. 

"It can't be one of the big ass ones," Daryl mused, considering the rings below. "She fights too much. Don't want it to get all tangled up in a walker's guts or somethin' an' slow her down none." 

Merle grunted in agreement, scanning the rings. "Why the hell'd you ask me to help, baby bro? You think I know a damn thing about all this?" 

Daryl just shook his head. "S'posed to ask your best friend to help, jerkwad. Or maybe ask hers, I don't know. Some shit like that." 

Merle gave him a long look. "So am I your best friend or hers?" he asked, and his brother's voice was oddly serious. 

Daryl just ducked his head. "I dunno. Maybe both," he admitted, and now Merle looked away too. 

"This one," his brother grunted, reaching in and pointed to one in the corner. 

It was just a band, square diamonds set flush with the metal. Daryl reached for it and pulled it out to look closer. 

"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, this looks like her. Don't it?" he asked anxiously, and Merle clapped him on the shoulder. 

"Yeah, brother, it does." 

 

She said yes. She said yes, and she looked so damn happy he wished he'd done it months before. 

Then everyone was trying to hug him and her and shake his hand, and finally he couldn't take it anymore and gave Merle a wild look, begging him to get him out of there. 

He felt a little bad for abandoning her to the people, but hey- weddings were more her thing than his. 

When Maggie and Carol cornered him to ask what he wanted, he just laughed and told them to do whatever she'd let them get away with. He hadn't missed the gleam in their eyes, and he'd hoped they'd make a fuss. For her sake. 

He sure didn't give a shit, but she deserved the world. 

Now he was standing there, waiting for her, with his brother's shit eating grin that said he knew somethin' Daryl didn't know, and Rick whispering advice in his ear that he claimed had been passed to him at his own wedding to Lori. 

It was mostly inappropriate, and Daryl would have cheerfully fallen on one of his own arrows again to get away from Rick if he hadn't been so ready to marry her. He was getting impatient when Beth came running up, breathless and grinning at him, and started singing. 

Then Michonne had appeared, and she gave him a look that clearly said he wasn't ready for what was coming, and he knew she was probably right. 

But nothing had prepared him for her. 

Someone- probably Michonne, judging by the look on the Samurai's face- had found her a dress, some white silky number that left her shoulders and a good deal of her upper body bare, and someone else had done something to her hair that looked complicated but gorgeous, and her eyelashes were like six miles long, and she was- 

She was grinning at him, and he was tearing up and he didn't care what anyone thought of that. 

She was damn fuckin' beautiful, and she was about to be his. Totally, completely, no one could argue with it or try to take her away from him; his. 

Then she repeated after Merle, and the way his name sounded when she made her promises was more than he'd ever hoped to hear from anyone in his life, and he took back every other time he'd declared his favorite. 

It was this one, right here. Nothing, nothing could top the way his name sounded on her lips today.


	16. Author's Note

Hey guys,

So I was originally going to keep this one open and use it for all of Daryl's POV, but I realized that would mean spoilers if someone were to read this before 'Those Who Arrive' or part 3, which is happening soon! (stay tuned!) 

Thanks for reading, thanks for all the comments and kudos; they make me so happy! 

Love, 

JustRamblinOn


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